


keep on crying-ABANDONED

by g_e_r_a_r_d



Category: Black Veil Brides, Bring Me The Horizon, Of Mice & Men (Band), Pierce the Veil, Sleeping With Sirens
Genre: Depression, Fluff, Gang, Gang AU, Gang Violence, Gang World, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Smut, No explicit smut, PTSD, Rape, Recovery, Romance, Self Harm, rape/non con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-03-23 17:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13792500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g_e_r_a_r_d/pseuds/g_e_r_a_r_d
Summary: ABANDONED.why do i keep starting fics i never finish?Vic Fuentes is the leader of a gang. Kellin Quinn is the hostage of another. Guys, we all know what's going to happen. I don't even know why I'm writing this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myself tbh i need this](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=myself+tbh+i+need+this).



**_Prologue._ **

* * *

 

 _Jaime’s really gone_. Vic blinks and snaps out of it. He can’t dwell on that now.

“We’re planning a raid on the Horizons,” he declares, surveying his Veils. They’re all brave, hardworking men – his best, all gathered in one room  and it pains him to know that some of them won’t make it through the events of the next few days. Valiant sacrifices. They’ll get smashing drunk one night to commemorate their deaths, and the dead will be forgotten by the time the hangover wears off. That’s how it goes in his line of work, you can’t afford to think about the dead.

Mike shoots him a worried look. “Isn’t this a bit soon, Vic? We haven’t even tried negotiating the terms – ”

“Fuck the terms,” says Vic. “They took fucking _Jaime._ Okay? Our friend. Our family. Our best guy. Nobody’s ever moved shit like Jaime does. So shut your fucking mouth, Mike, we’ve gotta find him before they fucking kill him. We can’t risk anything. At the very least, we’ll take some guys, get ‘em to trade. Actually, we’ll do that.”

Mike gives an exasperated sigh. “You’re not thinking properly, Vic. Please. Calm down and think clearly.”

Vic slams his fist into the table, grabbing the attention of the Veils. “No. We’ll do it tonight, after sunset.” A set, stoic look is on his face. There’s no going back. He won’t budge. When Vic makes an order, the Veils follow it. “Get your shit together. We’re going to attack the Horizon and bring Sykes’s most valued men back with us.”

“Fuentes. What if the Brides are with them? We can’t handle Black’s men. They’ll be too strong.”

Vic makes an impulsive decision.

“We’ll go anyways. Now get out of my sight. Meet me back here in five hours with your gear. Don’t fuck this up.”


	2. big fat tw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rape/noncon/abuse tw. this was hard to write. all of my knowledge on this subject was heavily borrowed from other fanficitons. sorry & ily all

Kellin can’t remember a life outside of Master’s harsh touch. Once upon a time, it was his father’s hands leaving bruises and his father’s words leaving craters in his heart. But those memories are tiny wisps in the back of his brain. Now all he thinks is _I deserve it I deserve it I deserve it._ And _don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry._ A constant stream of self-deprecation. _Take it take it take it. Make Master happy._

There are dark bruises pressed into his wrists, a ring around his neck. A purple-blue-yellow collar that never goes away, no matter how long he waits. Master gets off on that. Watching Kellin gasp for breath. His waist is mottled with fingerprints. His back is scabbed and red from the whip.

Kellin hasn’t seen clothes in months. He’s been forced to live a diminished existence as a slave – the worst fucking kind of slave – and clothing isn’t part of this existence. He’s supposed to be open and ready for his Master at all times, not embarrassed, not emotional. He’s supposed to be blank and accepting. If he sheds a tear, Master will backhand him and force his head down onto a pillow until white dots pinprick his vision. No more tears after that, no _,_ suddenly it’s all _No Master, I won’t cry anymore, I swear._ And if he doesn’t shut up, the whip  comes out.

More often than not, Master reeks of some kind of spirits, something as strong and vile as its consumer.

Kellin gave up a long time ago. If he complains or shows so much as a hint of emotion other than complete and utter devoted obedience, Master brings out the whole crew of fags from the gang to abuse him. _I’m not good enough for you? Maybe the whole gang will be._ Because that’s what Master is, the leader of a fucking gang. And Kellin doesn’t know if he was ever gay to start out. But his dad made sure he was. And then Master. Kellin now can’t imagine doing anything other than taking what he’s given. He could never be a Master, the one on top, the one in control.

 

* * *

 

 

Kellin is woken by a loud, harsh yelling. He winces. _Master._ He’s still tied to the bed, a thin sheet the only thing covering him for warmth. He doesn’t need to be tied to the bed anymore – he wouldn’t dream of escaping – but last night Master kept telling him how much of a pretty little slut he looked, all tied up and open for his Master. It was a good night last night. Master didn’t even hurt him _that much_. Kellin thinks it’s because he’s just given up. It’s better to be a compliant slut who’s treated well than a rebellious whore that gets slapped around.

“ _I can’t believe you were that fucking stupid! We can’t afford to have a war right now! Why the fuck did you take him_?” There’s a pause. Master’s on the phone, downstairs. “ _Shit. Shit. We’ve gotta go. We’ve gotta leave.”_ Another long pause. “ _No, we can’t just surrender him! I’m not a weak ass motherfucker. I just need time. We’ll relocate, avoid conflict. Offer a solution. We need to get out_ now. _You retard! Fuck._ ” The sound of something being thrown across the room; a smash. Master is swearing more now.

Kellin whimpers. Master’s mad and he’s just tied here, waiting. Master could come up here and kill him, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything. Master does that when he’s mad. He’s unpredictable. There’ve been other slaves but they never last as long as Kellin. He guesses he’s special.

He’s special. He’s Master’s favorite. As much as he hates Master, he still feels a tingle when he thinks this. That’s what’s gotten him through the last few months – years? The thought of being Master’s favorite. The thought of being special.

He hears feet coming up the stairs and more loud crashes. He takes a deep breath. _Controlled expression. No fear. Master hates fear. Take it. Take it take it take it. Let him have his way._

The door opens slowly. Kellin peers up and almost yells in fear. Master looks so different. Not angry-different – something’s _wrong._ There are shiny tear tracks going down his face. He’s holding a large duffel bag, and he angrily starts going through his dresser, tossing boxes of ammunition into the bag. He methodically removes handguns and ammo from each drawer, working down to the large one where bigger, scarier guns hide. That’s the **_Bad Drawer._** Where Kellin isn’t allowed. _Ever._ Master keeps horrible things in there. Rope, the whip. The toys. And apparently, these very large firearms.

Master is avoiding eye contact with Kellin. Kellin wants to scream – _Master, please! Tell me what’s happening!_ Instead, he watches the tattoo-covered man fill the bag with dangerous things. A few select books from the bookshelf go flying into the bag, along with some of the clothes from the closet, and all of Master’s important things, like his wallet.

Kellin cracks when Master approaches the bed to rummage under it for things. “Master! Please. Master. What are you doing?”

“Shut up,” Master says lowly. Monotonously. Without the usual glee that accompanies his reproves. Kellin’s more scared than ever. Master loves abusing him. Why hasn’t he hit Kellin yet? Why isn’t he using his favorite slut like he always does in the morning?

“Please,” Kellin whimpers. A smack would be better than silence. He cranes his neck and watches Master retrieve rolls of planning paper and yet _more_ weapons from beneath the bed. “Please!”

Master stops dead and sits back on the heels of his feet. There’s a small gun in his hand.

“I’m going to kill you,” he says calmly. “I don’t have time to deal with you anymore. Those fucking Mexicans are coming because Black and his shitheads have fucked everything up for me. You were an outstandingly good fuck, but – ”

He’s interrupted by a wail from Kellin. “Tch. Shut up. Death will be the release from this hell, slave.”

“B-but – I don’t want to leave you, Master. I love you. Please. Don’t.” Kellin spouts out words rapid fire. Master twirls the gun in his hand.

“Shut _up,_ ” he says, using one hand to fasted the duffel bag zipper.

“Please. Don’t do this. Please. I can suck you off real good right now – I swear I won’t cry, I’ll be quiet, I won’t bother you anymore,” Kellin says desperately.

  Master stops, pauses, puts the gun on his knee. “Hmmm. Actually, I might not kill you.”

Kellin’s heart nearly stops. “Yes, master. You won’t regret it. Please. Don’t leave me. Don’t kill me. I want to be with you.”

Master smirks. “Nah. I’ll leave you here, baby, for those dirty Mexicans. The Veils are coming, Kellin. You know, they’re a very rough crowd. I heard their leaders are fags like you. You’ll be a little distraction. And I’ll be gone before they can blink.”

Kellin gasps and gives an outcry. But Master’s already getting up. There’s a hand slowly stroking through his greasy hair, soft and loving, for a split second. He chokes, desperately leaning into the warm touch. It’s gone in an instant. Master’s expression is hard and without emotion.

“Goodbye, my little slut. Be good for your Master.”


	3. why is it so short smh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> idk why this chapter is so short. well, ive gotten 10k words written for this story already. let's hope i can finish it soon.

 

Vic and Mike are in the front, guns brandished, vests tight, looking formidable. “This place is dis _gusting_ ,” Mike says, kicking a filthy bottle into the corner of the dirt-covered floor. Fresh, wet boot-prints track through the dust, creating dark muddy stains along the tiles. Old newspapers and bits of trash have accumulated among the furniture. Most of the light fixtures are broken. And the smell –

“It fucking _stinks_ in here _,_ ” Mike continues. “Holy shit. Somebody’s probably fucking dead up in here, Vic. That’s why. Oh god, I’m not ready for another Floating Fred. They’ve been here. This is their fucking house and they were just here and oh god what if there’s still people _here?_ ”

Vic ignores his brother, stepping over what appears to be a dirty condom and narrowly avoiding stepping into a pile of discarded needles. The couch beside him is breaking open, the stuffing coming out, along with a host of tiny bugs. This place is worse than a crack house. To think there were people _living_ here, just hours ago.

There’s a set of stairs in front of them. As he gets closer, he hears a noise.

“Wait, stop.” He holds out his hand behind him. The five guys who’re surveying this house with him come to a halt, holding their guns steady.

A soft, repetitive noise is emanating out from the rooms above.

“Hmmm… I’ll go first. Follow behind me.” The Veils don’t look ready to argue, and they allow him to lead them up into the otherwise abandoned home. There’s three doors upstairs. The men take their place outside of the doors and watch Vic push open the first one. A dark bathroom, devoid of any life. He brushes aside the shower curtain and cracks open the linen closet. “It’s clear.”

They move onto the next room, which is possibly the cleanest place in the entire house. Vic steps in cautiously, not seeing an immediate threat. Mike moves in to throw open the closet, Vic peers under the nondescript bed. Nothing.

“Third time’s a charm,” Mike whispers. The noises get louder. Vic is nervous as he kicks in the last door. What the fuck is he getting into?

“Oh, _god,_ ” Tony says, and when Vic sees what Tony’s referring to, he instantly realizes _just_ what he’s gotten into.

 

* * *

 

 

Vic’s heart nearly stops when he sees the pitiful sight all laid out on the bed. A boy. His wrists, blackened and scarred from self-abuse and _worse –_ they’re tied to the bedpost at what couldn’t _possibly_ be a comfortable angle. His body is deadly thin, from the section that he can see. His greasy black hair is matted over his eyes and he’s crying uncontrollably, tears bubbling down his body, unrestricted, he’s choking on his own runny nose.

And his _body._ It’s _horrible._ His ribs pop out grotesquely, the exposed expanse of his chest is covered with black spots and angry red knots, some scabbed and old, some scarred. His entire bony forearms are rubbed raw by the rope around them, there are unhealed slits lining them.

Vic can only draw one conclusion as to why a terrified, frail boy would be tied, sobbing uncontrollably, to a notorious gang lord’s bed, and it’s not a good conclusion at all.

The boy sees them and begins to cry louder, incomprehensible things escaping his mouth. Vic looks away, horrified and unable to watch the helpless boy try to fight his tears.

Mike nudges him. The other guys are leaving, muttering in disgust, to search the next house. Vic puts on his strong, angry shell. He can’t show weakness over this pathetic little boy. He’s the leader of the fucking Veils, the most feared gang for hundreds of miles. This kid probably has information.

“Get out, I’ll handle it,” Vic says lowly. Mike gives him a dubious look but follows the rest of the guys, gun at the ready. Vic takes a disgusted step closer to the bed. The boy instantly stills and starts frantically writhing on the bed, violently crying. Vic can make out his words.

“ _P-_ please, p-please, Master, I d-didn’t mean to d-do it-t. Come b-back, b-bring him b-back. I-I-‘ll be good. M-Master…” His voice gets louds and louder, the closer Vic gets, rambling, pleading. Vic reaches into his pocket for his knife, intending to cut the ropes off, but the boy becomes frantic when he sees the weapon, shrieking in terror.

“Shut _up!”_ Vic is angry now. He loses his temper far too fast. The boy almost immediately ceases his crying, shrinking away as Vic leans over to slice at the rope. After a few tense seconds of sawing, the rope falls away. The boy’s hands fall with it, limply bouncing off the filthy mattress.

The boy looks up at him with wonder-filled eyes. He’s still terrified, but maybe he’ll talk.

“Where the fuck are they?” Vic asks harshly, unable to control the anger now coursing through his body. The knife is still in his hands and the boy won’t look away from it, but he doesn’t want to put it into the holster in his pocket. It gives him power over the boy, in case he isn’t as broken as he appears.

“I – I – m-master,” the boy whimpers, pulling up the blanket to cover his sorry form. “M-master left. H-he left me. I-I’m his f-f-favorite.”

“Did he tell you where he went?” Vic asks, ignoring the boy’s pointless rambling. This boy’s _Master_ has to be one of the Horizons, or the Brides. They’re both gangs of despicable people, they always terrorize the people around them with rapes and murders. Uncontrollable drunks. Vic takes pride in making sure his gang is classy and efficient.

The boy goes silent, sniffing into the blanket and clutching it like it’s his life force. Vic makes a disgusted noise and goes to dig through the dresser, which is ransacked except for some old clothes. He grabs some choice articles and hurls them at the boy. “Get dressed. You’re coming back with us. I know you know something.”

Vic’s bluffing. But he can’t find it in himself to leave the boy behind. Besides, maybe one of the Horizons or Brides has emotional attachment to this pitiful thing. Maybe they could trade him for Jaime.


	4. help me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im falling in love with my best friend , and he has a girlfriend, but we're practically the same person and we spent the whole lunch period screaming mcr songs on the really tall wall at school..... why doesnt he love me smh

It takes the boy what seems like an hour to pull on the clothes, he’s slow as fuck, and he won’t let go of that filthy blanket. He manages to coax the boy out of the house, and he can swear he hears the boy’s pale skin sizzling in the fading sunlight. An exaggeration, but the boy looks so tiny, so terrified, he almost feels pity breaking through the impenetrable Gang Leader Vic shell.

Vic’s disappointed that they didn’t get there sooner. Maybe, they’d be leaving with Jaime and not some dirty sex slave. Useless. He smacks his hand into the steering wheel and Mike gives him a worried look from the passenger seat. In the back of the van, he hears the boy crying, still calling for his master.

“God, when’s that little shit going to shut up?” Vic snarls, his anger building by the second. Mike looks like he’s ready to slap Vic.

“God, Vic, shut up. He’s some kid. Who knows how long he’s been there? Who knows what they’ve done to him? Calm down. Think about what he’s gone through.” Mike’s always been there for Vic, a rock, somebody to rely on. A good brother. Vic closes his eyes for a split second and breathes. The car drifts. Mike reaches out and turns the steering wheel a little, causing them to swerve back into their lane.

“Idiot,” he mutters, but he says it lovingly.

 

* * *

 

 

They get back to the Veil’s compound at almost one AM. It’s a dusty old place on the edge of the desert, composed of many grey brick buildings, some are homes, some are larger. It was apparently used in some nuclear testing back in the mid-twentieth century, but now it’s been taken over for residence by Vic’s gang. Nobody’s contracted cancer yet, so it’s probably safe.

It's a perfect hideout. It looks abandoned from the outside, perched on a sandy hill, surrounded by broken barbed wire and coated in offensive graffiti. The city is just visible from one side of the hill, the desert’s on the other. It’s unbearably hot during the day and freezing cold during the night. Vic loves it. During the day they’ll strategize, but more often than not, just sit around and be douchey. At night, they’ll go out and have a little fun. Aside from Mike and Jaime, Vic’s the only gay guy in the gang, which makes it hard to hire entertainment. But at least they’re not like the Horizons. Taking young men as _sex slaves_.

Vic pulls into the parking lot behind the house he’s claimed as his own. Most of the guys just go home at night, but he and a select few have no job outside of the gang. Vic doesn’t do much work – Mike’s in charge of most of the strategic relations with other gangs, Tony does finances, Jaime moves the goods. The other guys are either just thugs, or they distribute. Some of them reinforce the territory. It’s very complex. It’s a big family.

Vic thinks about Jaime. His good friend. Mike’s – uh. Friend.

The gang’s going to go to shit without Jaime.

“Do you want any help with, uh,” Mike makes a vague gesture to the back of the van, and Vic shakes his head. “Ah. Okay. I’ll be going, then. Goodnight, Vic.”

“’Night,” Vic mutters. The boy has quieted down significantly, he might even be asleep now. Vic watches Mike’s retreating back until he disappears into the dark. He sighs, and undoes his seatbelt, twisting to peer into the back. The boy is huddled in the corner of the van, wrapped in his blanket. He looks dead.

 _God, I hope he’s not dead,_ Vic thinks. _He might know where Jaime is._

Then a horrible thought hits him.

_What if they took Jaime to replace him?_

“No, no, no, no,” he mutters, throwing open the door and running around to open the back of the van. The noise wakes the boy and he scrambles against the wall, already bursting into tears.

Vic isn’t thinking as he shouts, “WHERE ARE THEY? WHERE IS HE?” He advances on the broken boy, shouting, ready to hurt. Ready to destroy. “Where is my fucking Jaime? What did you do to him? Where is he?”

The boy is screaming, high and shrill. His face is covered in a sheen of snot and tears. He covers his face, curling into himself, expecting a blow, a kick, or worse, from Vic. “M-master! I w-want my m-master! I d-don’t know! I d-d-don’t k-know! Please!”

His desperate tone strikes a chord in Vic’s heart, and he stops dead. _“Fuck._ Fuck. Fuck. I need to get you out of here. I need to fucking call _fucking_ Oliver Sykes and get rid of you.”

The boy cries harder. Vic ignores him and grabs him, the boy weighing probably barely a hundred pounds in his arms. He smells disgusting. Vic gags as he stumbles to the back door and shoves his key into it, staggering into the bathroom. He drops the boy into the tub and sits back, breathing heavily. The boy sobs and contracts his body into a tiny ball, as if expecting icy water to hit him any second.

 _I don’t want to do this,_ Vic thinks. But he bodily rolls over the kid so he won’t drown and turns on the faucet. Clothes and all, he allows the bath to flood with water. The water’s almost immediately murky and black. The boy chokes back a sob and becomes stiff under Vic’s fingers. Vic empties half a bottle of body soap into the bath and watches a regrettably large amount of bubbles form.

“Can you, y’know – ”

Another choked sob. The boy pulls off his shirt. _I knew this comfort wouldn’t last long_ , his expression says. He carefully drapes the wet shirt over the side of the tub, and next come the soaking wet sweatpants. Vic averts his eyes even though the boy is hidden by the bubbles. Vic’s a lot of things, but he’s not pervert, and this situation is becoming increasingly more awkward as the slave just sits there, tears silently rolling down his face.

“I’ll bring you clothes. Wash your fucking hair.” Vic’s voice comes out unintentionally harsh and he doesn’t take it back. Something about this kid just pisses him off.  Maybe it’s just because he’s so hopelessly _pitiful._ He leaves the bathroom and walks up the stairs to his bedroom, grabbing a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. He hurries back.

The boy isn’t in the bathroom. Vic glances around and, alarmed, and sees the water in the bath sloshing quickly. Bubbles reach the surface.

_Is this idiot – ?_

A splash. He swears and jumps over to the bath, grabbing the boy by his hair and pulling him above the water. There’s rapid, wet coughing, and water splashes from the boy’s mouth. He looks absolutely hopeless.

“What the _fuck_? You can’t fucking die, I _know_ you have information about Jaime. About the Horizons and shit. Fuck you. Fuck you.” He spits the words out rapid fire and the boy starts crying, full force again. Vic looks away, emptying the bath water. He needs to get this guy to sleep. Maybe a good night’s rest will make him… better. Or whatever. The thought is stupid, but Vic doesn’t know anything about sex slaves.

The boy gets the gist and he rinses himself off, accepting the towels and clothes that Vic chucks at him. Vic turns to give the boy privacy. There’s thumping noises over the soft sobbing and hacking coughs, the boy’s bony limbs colliding with the sides of the tub as he struggles into the sweatpants. Vic turns to peek and see that the boy’s managed to pull up the sweatpants, but he isn’t able to lift the shirt over his head.

“I d-d-don’t want to be alive w-without Master,” he’s saying, and he coughs again. “P-please.”

Vic snorts and moves over to the boy, adjusting him so he can pull the shirt down his body. The boy winces away but keeps his mouth shut. Vic pulls him closer and hauls him out of the tub. The boy doesn’t make any effort to move. Vic takes him upstairs, which is easier said than done. Even though he weighs as much as a child, Vic isn’t used to hauling around hundred-pound loads.

The extra bedroom door’s open, so he kicks it with his foot and stumbles in, dumping the boy on the bed like a sack of potatoes.

Getting answers out of this guy is gonna be harder than he thought.


	5. wow 100 views?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i thought this fandom was dead wth why did i even get 100 views oml why are you reading this shit hunk

When Kellin realizes that the scary Veil guy is bringing him into a bedroom, he freaks. The bathroom was bad enough – having to strip in front of a stranger, even though he was covered – and he’s just waiting for something to happen.

Master sometimes took him in the shower. Those times were better than usual. Usually he had an ice-cold shower every few days, after everyone in the house had already used the warm water. But when Master joined him, the water was warm and soothing, because Master always wanted the best. Master would lather him in soap and rinse him off gently. It was times like then that Kellin wished he could love his Master in the way that he should. Unless his Master was in a bad mood, the shower was always a good place, slow, careful.

The guy who took him into the bathroom just sat there, his face blank. He didn’t even try to look at Kellin. _He’s mad, he’s mad, he’s going to hurt me_ , Kellin thinks wildly. So at the closest opportunity, he dives under the bubbles and sucks in a big breath full of water. It doesn’t work in his favor.

He doesn’t want to live without his Master. At least Master was predictable. Kellin knew how to compose himself, how to act. This guy – even though he looks soft, and he’s barely an inch taller – this guy’s scary, strong, and according to Master, probably one of the Veil’s fags.

He’s a pretty thing, with long, light brown hair and matching eyes; he’s wiry and short, with a big white smile. So pretty. Kellin’s terrified of him. Master was pretty too, and look where that got him. Whisked from a filthy bus stop and into an equally dirty house. A gang’s hellhole home. Abused for –

He doesn’t even know how long. He doesn’t want to know. A fresh volley of harsh tears hits the cold air around him. The Veil guy kicks open the door and staggers into a bedroom, and Kellin quickly clings to his shoulders. The second he gets put down, he’s going to be hurt. Broken again. He wants his Master. His Master would never let other people take him. Okay, he did, but it was for a reason – Kellin was bad, he deserved it.

Kellin doesn’t deserve this. He was a good slut. He doesn’t deserve to be abandoned by his Master just for some angry Veil guy to kidnap him and force him into a bed.

He closes his eyes and waits. For the knife to slice his skin, the cold hands to rake across his body, the shove to send him sprawling.

There’s nothing. When he opens his eyes, the man is just standing there and looking down at him, his arms crossed.

“What’s your name?”

Kellin bites his tongue. This is a trick question. When Master would ask him what his name, what he was – usually during a profane act – he’d answer, “Your slut, Master. Your whore. Your pet.” And Master would smirk in approval and tug on Kellin’s hair. Kellin never liked his name anyway, it was only fitting to be somebody’s slut.

“Slut,” he whispers, looking up at the man, knowing his eyes are full of pure, unadulterated fear. He can’t read this man’s blank face, unmoving, unwilling to change. He could always tell when Master was angry or happy, even if it was just from the tiniest twitch of his mouth or the way he ran his hands through his hair. The man rolls his eyes

“No, your real name,” he presses.

“Slut,” Kellin says again, quieter this time. His body is clean and cold and he wants to bury himself under the blankets and never come out. He needs his Master. He _needs_ him. His body is aching and the only person who can fix him is his Master.

The man gives an angry sigh. Kellin’s afraid.

“What _ever_ ,” he says loudly. And he walks out, slamming the door behind him. Kellin is terrified that he’s going to come back with a whip or the ropes. Something to hurt him.

Kellin waits there for a good hour. The man never comes back. He shakes the whole time.

_I need to find him and make him happy…_

 


	6. aye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> h h h h h h h h h

Vic spends an hour tossing and turning because he can’t bear to think Jaime isn’t in the compound with him and Mike and Tony and the rest of the full-time Veils. He thinks about the boy downstairs and how he doesn’t know how to fucking deal with him.

He finally calms down his racing mind and he feels his eyes shutting slowly, he’s chanting a mantra to himself. _It’s going to work out. You can’t fail. It’s going to work out. There’s no way it won’t._

He’s going to get his Jaime back, and return this boy to his… owners. There’s something morally wrong with that, but Vic doesn’t want to think about it. He just wants Jaime back.

He lets his breathing even out and he’s just about to fall asleep when he hears the door creaking open slowly. He ignores it at first, thinking it’s probably just the old house. But then he feels the bed move and he jerks into a semi-conscious state.

“What is it?” he asks, reaching up to grab the gun under his pillow. But a hand stops him, cold and shaky.

“M-Master…” There’s a low moan, something fearful and somewhat sexual.

 _Oh, fuck._ He groans. There’s a trembling body on top of him now, and he can feel hands down near his boxers. Is this fucking creep going to try to rape him?

“M-m-master,” and there’s a violent sob as Vic pulls himself from sleep and bodily forces the boy off him. Vic’s heart is hammering. He swears. The boy rolls away and starts shrieking. He hits the carpeted floor with a thump.

“Don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything, I’ll make you happy, please, _I want my Master!”_

Vic sits upright, drawing the covers closely around his bare chest. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”

Another choking sob. “I was just trying to make you happy, please, don’t hurt me, I just want to make you feel good,” and his speech stutters to a stop and he becomes completely silent, except for a stray hiccup. He looks pitiful, curled on the floor. His hair, still damp and fluffy from the bath, is hanging over his eyes, and Vic can see why his hair is kept so long – it makes him look so helpless and submissive.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Vic says loudly. “Come here.” He leans to grab his shirt and pulls it back on, suspecting that being half-naked will only complicate the situation. He throws the covers back and stares down at the boy, who’s staring right back up with round, shiny eyes. His lip is quivering. Vic searches for a response in his mind and groans. “Come _here._ ”

The boy whimpers and crawls back onto the bed, looking like he’s about to be hurt. Vic feels sick just looking at him. “Calm down, idiot. I’m not some – some – ” He searches for an appropriate word and fails to find one, his mouth unable to form a response. “I’m not a _rapist_ ,” he says, and the boy recoils.

“Master wasn’t a rapist,” he says quickly. “I deserved it – ”

Vic chokes on nothing but air and he looks at the boy, kneeling in front of him, his head bowed. “I need my _Master_ ,” he’s saying over and over again.

“Your – your fucking _Master – he left you_ ,” Vic snarls and the boy sets off again, giving a howling sob.

“He d-did not! He just w-wanted to get away from – from you d-d- _dirty Mexicans._ He wanted t-to take me – h-he just didn’t h-have time! He w-would have k-killed me! I k-know he’ll come looking f-for me.”

Vic feels his breath catch in his throat. What if this boy’s – _master –_ comes looking for him? What if he finds the compound? What if he followed their cars back?

“Get _out,”_ he hisses, tossing the blankets at the boy, who scrambles back. “Don’t come back in here. Get out. I'll figure out what to do with you later.”

The boy’s gone before he can even finish his sentence. _God._


End file.
